


Dawn to Inevitable Dusk

by eternaleponine



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: F/M, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk.</i> - Susan Scarf Merrell</p><p>Gretel is plagued by memories of what almost happened in Augsburg, and finds comfort in her brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn to Inevitable Dusk

"Gretel? Gretel!" Hansel reached up to shake his sister, pulling back when she finally gasped awake, but not fast enough to keep her from catching his arm, clinging to it. He pushed himself up to kneel beside the bed, watching her face as her eyes darted back and forth, searching the shadows. "Hey," he said softly. "Hey, it's all right. It's just us."

"Yeah. Okay." She settled, relaxing her grip. "Sorry."

"For what?" He worked his fingers; she'd almost crushed them in her grip. Her eyes were still too wide, her skin too pale in the darkness. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

One shoulder lifted and fell. "I woke you up."

He shrugged in return. "Bad dream?" He didn't really need to ask; it was written all over her face and in the tension that sang through her. He didn't need to touch her to feel it. It was fight-or-flight, but the enemy was in her own head. He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers tracing the curve of it down to where it met her jaw. "Wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head, but her eyes held him pinned. She didn't want to talk about it, but maybe she needed to. And whatever it was, she couldn't find the words so it must be bad. 

"Shove over."

He thought for a second she might argue, but she just shifted closer to the wall, lifting the covers to let him in. He grabbed his own blanket from the floor and tossed it over them before sliding in beside her. "C'mere."

Another pause, her expression so serious it made him want to crack jokes, to make an idiot of himself just to make her smile. Then she rolled over, turning her back to him. Not a rejection but an invitation. It had been a long time – a very long time – since they'd curled up together like this. They'd been children then, and it had been too cold not to share blankets and body heat. But they'd grown up and as close as they were, it wouldn't have been right...

But she was hurt in a way that he couldn't just bandage, and what other comfort could he give? It didn't _feel_ wrong. Her body fit itself into the curve of his and he tightened his arms around her. She laced her fingers through his and he squeezed them gently. Her hair tickled where it brushed his face, but it smelled good. He nuzzled into it without thinking and felt her push back harder against him.

He'd almost drifted off again when she started to talk. He felt the words more than heard them at first, as her breath hitched and she shifted, squirmed, her spine against his chest so close he breathed when she did because it made him feel off-kilter otherwise.

"They... the sheriff... his men. They caught me. They beat me. That's what happened to my face," she said. Her voice was rough, ragged, and he knew that wasn't all of it because they'd been beaten many times before and it only ever made Gretel stronger, more determined. This... there was more to this. So he waited.

"Then they... there were too many of them, and they... he... he would have if Edward... And I can't get it out of my head!" She shuddered, choking on a swallowed sob.

"Gretel..." Hansel held her tight, too tight but she didn't complain, and forced down his anger. All of those men were dead. The troll had seen to that. There was no one left to take vengeance on, so he had to swallow his rage and keep himself gentle. "Gretel, look at me."

She twisted around, rolling over to face him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, bright with unshed tears, and he wanted to kiss them away. He stroked her back instead, fingers mapping the curve of her spine. "It's all right. Nothing happened."

It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it immediately, even before he was shoved half out of the bed. "How can you say that?" she demanded, her voice a low hiss. "How _dare_ you say that? I was _raped_ , or I would have been if Edward hadn't been there, and where were _you_?"

 _Up a tree,_ he thought, _and then..._ And then with Mina, while his sister had found herself in a situation that for once she hadn't been able to get out of herself, and he should have been there. Because she could take care of herself right up until she couldn't (and the same went for him; she'd gotten his ass out of the fire more times than he could count, starting with that first time) and it was his responsibility to be there when that happened.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, you're right. I should have been there."

"You're damn right you should have been there! I needed you and you were nowhere and I can't stop remembering! I just want to forget and it won't go away!" Anger gave way to anguish, frustration turned to pleading, and this wasn't his sister, wasn't Gretel who'd freed him from a witch's cage, wasn't Gretel who fought at his side and didn't take any shit from anyone. This was someone small and scared, a little girl lost in the wood who needed her brother to hold her hand and keep the monsters away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, sinking his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head and stroking her temples with his thumbs. "I'm so sorry, Gretel."

Her hands came up, her fingers encircling his wrists and he thought she would push him away. She closed her eyes, tipping her head so that her forehead rested against his. Her thumbs rested over the pulse in his wrists, and he felt it speed up as she stroked the skin there. 

Her nose brushed against his, and she was close enough that he could feel the damp warmth of her breath on his skin, taste it on his lips. And if he'd had to answer under oath who had moved first, whose face tipped and whose hands tightened just that little bit to bring them closer, too close, not nearly close enough... he couldn't have.

His lips met hers – soft, sweet – and if she was kissing him he was kissing her back, and if he was kissing her she gave no sign of protest. And it didn't _mean_ anything, for all that it made his heart hammer against his ribcage, and she could feel it, he knew that she could, and he could feel her breath catch, feel her breasts press against his chest, only her thin shirt and his between them as her nipples tightened, coming to points that begged to be touched, tasted... 

But not by him. Gretel was his sister, and never mind that her lips parted against his, and the tip of her tongue met his and slid away, once, then again. Never mind that his pants felt suddenly too tight for the growing hardness of his cock. Never mind that he could feel the heat of her all along his body, every place that skin pressed skin or cloth or leather.

He broke the kiss, opened his eyes, and she was watching him, her mouth still open slightly, something deep in her dark eyes that he couldn't quite read. "Don't say it," she whispered. "Please don't say it."

"Don't say what?" he asked. _Don't say it's wrong? Don't say we can't do this? Don't say that I'm your brother and we can't feel this way? That's what I'm supposed to say, Gretel. I'm supposed to be the one who protects you from men like me._

But that wasn't it exactly, was it? He was supposed to protect her from men like the sheriff, who would take what they wanted from her and leave her beaten, bloody, broken. _He_ would never hurt her, never do anything to her that she didn't want. 

But how could he be sure that she did want this? She was scared, and confused maybe. She was just looking for comfort, and he would be taking advantage... What if it was some kind of spell? That witch had told them to go fuck themselves, or better yet, go fuck each other. What if... 

_Witches spells don't work on us._ The reminder was from inside his own head, but it had Gretel's voice, and was that real or was it his mind playing tricks on him? 

"Hansel?" 

He blinked, shoving back the thoughts to focus on the here and now, on Gretel's face and the way that her forehead furrowed in concern. "God, you're beautiful," he said. He didn't mean to say it, but there it was, out there between them. "I shouldn't say that. I shouldn't think it... but you are, Gretel, so fucking beautiful it fucking hurts."

She let go of one of his wrists and slid her hand between them, her palm resting over his heart, the tips of her fingers brushing his skin where the collar was open. He was sure his heart skipped a beat. "It doesn't have to," she whispered. "It doesn't have to hurt."

And he honestly wasn't sure who she was trying to convince: him or herself.

"You know I never would," he said, his voice a low rumble. 

Her hand pressed harder against his chest. "I know." She looked down, staring at where skin met skin in a touch more intimate than they'd ever allowed. Sure, they'd seen pretty much every part of each other at one time another as wounds were bandaged, scrapes and bruises and burns tended, but this was different. This wasn't practical. It wasn't a means to an end. This was two people seeking connection, seeking solace, salvation, redemption in the last place they should ever look for it and the only place they were ever likely to find it.

"Please," she whispered, lifting her eyes to his again. He didn't know what she was asking for; he wasn't sure that she knew either. But this was Gretel, his sister Gretel, and he'd never figured out how to say no to her.

"Okay."

And then she was taking off his shirt, sliding it up over his head and letting it fall on the floor. Cool air hit his skin, and he shivered, but then she was in his arms and he was warm again. Her lips pressed against his neck as her hands traced his ribs, and one of her legs wrapped over one of his, so that her hip rubbed against him in ways that made it very difficult not to start rutting.

One hand tangled itself back in her hair, and the other slid slowly down from her shoulder to her back, over her hip to her thigh, and the shirt she was wearing stopped there. He fingered the hem of it, the line that divided Maybe Just Barely Okay from Eternal Damnation, and then crossed it.

Her breath caught as callused fingertips dragged down her thigh to her knee, and she was very still as his palm traveled back up the same path. This time when he reached the hem of her shirt, he pushed it out of the way, skin on skin all the way up. His thumb pressed against her hipbone and his fingers splayed, and she rocked against him as she finally exhaled with a groan so soft he might not have heard it if her lips hadn't been pressed to the hollow just behind his ear.

He turned his head, nuzzling against her cheek, and she opened her eyes and smiled at him, just a slight curve of her lips that was both coy and genuinely shy. He couldn't help smiling back, shifting so he could kiss her again. 

He let himself believe that whatever she said, her body wouldn't lie to him. He let himself believe that when her mouth opened against his, deepening the kiss, and when her fingers dug into his back, crushing her body against his, it was exactly what it seemed to be: his sister, his Gretel, wanting him in a way that no one would ever accept.

But when had they ever cared about that anyway? 

He was gripping her hip hard enough that there would likely be a mark tomorrow, and he forced himself to unclench his fingers as he broke the kiss, panting. There was fire in her eyes now rather than fear, desire instead of despair, and his blood quickened at the change. "Please," he whispered. 

The sound she made was somewhere between a moan and a laugh, and there she was, the girl turned woman that he knew and loved so deeply it ached. "Okay."

He eased the material of her shirt up, letting himself enjoy the feel of her skin as it was revealed, softer than it had any business being, except where scars crossed it, leaving a map of their history permanently etched in her flesh. He knew the story behind every one of them, and he whispered them to her as each one was revealed, places and names, how old they'd been, scraps of memories that they shared because they shared everything.

Almost everything. Actually everything soon, because for him there was no going back now that the line had been crossed except on her say-so.

And then their words tangled as she began to do the same, and sometimes they found ones that matched, that were from the same battle, and sometimes they choked on the words because they'd come too close to losing and they didn't want to remember. But what didn't kill you made you stronger, and she was strong, and so was he, and never more than when they were together.

Her fingers found a scar that started just above his hip and curved downward, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. He remembered that one, and from the way she blanched, so did she. There had been so much blood, and then there'd been an infection, and...

"I almost lost you," she whispered. "If you'd died on me, I would have killed you."

"Never," Hansel said, brushing back her hair. 

Like there were white witches, there were white lies as well, and this was one of them and they both knew it. He might die tomorrow; that was the chance they took with the job they did. She might die too, and maybe the best that they could hope for was that when they did, it would be together and they wouldn't have to figure out how to go on alone.

She fumbled slightly with the fastenings of his trousers, and Hansel might have tried to help if he hadn't been too distracted by the fact that she was unfastening his trousers. He could only stare at her as she peeled them down his hips and thighs, and then her lips were on that scar and it was the most exquisite torture he could imagine.

She looked up at him, and he forced himself to let go of the sheets so he could hold out his arms to her in invitation. There was no hesitation as she accepted it, fitting her body to his, and the entire world lurched and spun a little faster for a second.

It was hard to listen to the head on his shoulders when the one between his legs had its own ideas about what should be happening right now. Still, although he no longer doubted that his sister wanted this as much as he did, he couldn't forget what had led them to this point, how this whole situation had come about. 

So they went slow, careful, gentle with each other as they discovered the places and ways that they liked to be touched. Hansel watched her face, searching for any signs of fear or discomfort, but there were none. He massaged her hip and then her thigh, working down the outside and then back up the inside, easing his fingers between her legs, brushing against the damp curls and parting her lips.

If he'd had any doubt of her body's willingness, it was erased as his fingers glided over slick heat. She jolted as he traced lightly over her clit, and he felt her teeth in his shoulder as she stifled a groan that turned into a whimper, then a soft keening. Her hips bucked into his hand as he touched her, and then she was trying to work her hand between their bodies to touch him.

"No," he told her, stilling his own hand for a moment because he wanted to make sure that she heard and understood. "Let me do this for you." When she started to object, he brushed his lips against her temple, the hair there damp with sweat. "If you touch me right now, it'll be over," he told her. 

"If you keep that up, it'll be the same," she replied. "I'm so close..."

"Good," Hansel said, but he teased her for a few moments more, thinking the interruption might have given her a chance to recover. He heard the change in pitch of her moans and took his hand away. "Are you sure?" he asked her.

Her only answer was to roll onto her back, pulling him on top of her. Her thighs came up, gripping his hips, and after a few slow thrusts that only teased as her opening, she wrapped her legs around him completely, pulling him in, and although he'd meant to go slowly, he found himself buried inside of her as deep as he could go.

He heard the sharp hiss of her breathing in. Her eyes were shut, her jaw clenched, like she was trying not to show pain.

"Hey," he said, touching her cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers. "Gretel, hey... you all right?"

She opened her eyes, blinking up at him, and slowly let out the breath she'd been holding. He could feel her relax as her eyes focused. "I'm okay," she reassured him. "Just... I'm okay." 

"If you need me to stop, if it's—"

"I don't. It's not. Kiss me."

Hansel kissed her, and kept kissing her until her arms wrapped around him and she began to move her hips beneath him, so that he had no choice but to move with her... against her... within her... and he knew that this was supposed to feel wrong but nothing had ever felt more right.

"Hansel," she gasped against his ear, seeking his lips again, but it was impossible to kiss her and breathe at the same time, and he was already way too close to passing out just from how fucking overwhelming it all was to give up the latter. "Please!"

"What?" he asked. "What's—"

Her breath caught and her back arched. "There!" she moaned. "Like that, just like that, there..." And then she couldn't form words at all as her back arched again and he felt her clench around him before collapsing back on the mattress, her body gone soft and yielding beneath him, although she still clung with arms and legs, holding him tight as he thrust, her lips on his throat, his ear, whispering nonsense as he groaned his completion.

He tried to roll away so that he wouldn't crush her with his weight, but she was tougher than that, and held him where he was as their mouths met in a kiss that was almost chaste. He opened his eyes and saw her looking back at him, and he smiled but he wasn't quite certain until she smiled back, and it wasn't just her lips but her whole face that glowed with it. It was only then that she let him go, and he flopped onto his back beside her.

She turned on her side, pulling the covers over them as she nestled against him, her head resting on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, needing her close. "Gretel, I—"

She stopped him with a finger to his lips. "Shh. I know."

He wasn't sure how she could, because he wasn't sure he himself knew what he'd been going to say. But maybe she knew anyway somehow, because that's just how they were. So he let himself trust her in this as he did in everything else.

He closed his eyes and willed the rhythm of his heart to synch itself with his sister's, which he could feel all through his body. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and felt as much as heard her sigh. "Sleep," he whispered. "No more nightmares."

This time, for once, she did as she was told.


End file.
